


if i'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter

by heyfrenchfreudiana



Series: In This World and the Next [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cracky, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, cooking show au, crossposted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7209533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/pseuds/heyfrenchfreudiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cooking Show AU</p><p> </p><p>  <i></i><br/>I'm a hot knife, I'm a hot knife,<br/>I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter.<br/>If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that<br/>He's never gonna need another, never need another.<br/>-Fiona Apple</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts), [myloveiamthespeedofsound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myloveiamthespeedofsound/gifts).



> a continuation of the cooking show AU prompt and in response to the adopted prompt from dresupi's anon of "grinding your hips down on him"
> 
> first chapter is cross-posted; second chapter is new :)
> 
> I really really loved this AU. I don't know what to do with it, but I really really loved it.

“We can’t air this, you can’t say that,” their producer said with a glare.

“Say what?” Natasha looked up from her spot at the cutting board innocently.

It was the upteenth time he’d interrupted filming to tell them (mostly her) that they weren’t working. And it was a show that shouldn’t have worked. Natasha, a newcomer who wore high heels and her hair in waves, was another woman with a show about how to make fancy food easy. Steve, on the other hand, had been around for nearly a decade. Less about making things easy and more about making comfort because he was the good-ole’ boy next door. She needed a platform and he needed a career boost and the one thing that they had going for them was that they’d both been ranked on the “25 Sexiest People on TV” in the past year.

The pitch was two sexy people who were opposite each other in every way pairing two dishes that, on paper, had no business belonging together.

“What are you making today, Natasha?” Steve asked, speaking in an over-the-top friendly voice that make her cringe. The plan was for her to make a roast.

“Spaghetti,” she announced, laughing inwardly at the flash of confusion on his face.

“Alla _Putta_ nesca,” she winked at the camera.

“Alla Putta… we can’t pair that with my mother’s apple pie, Natasha,” he said  through his teeth, his ears turning red. 

“We can and we will,” she grinned, reaching for a bottle of white wine, taking an exaggerated look at his ass as she took a swig. “A traditional Italian dish that literally means in the style of a whore. It’s perfect.”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here be the prompt ;)

“We need to talk,” Steve huffed, tossing his dishrag on the counter. Natasha smirked to herself and reached back to untie the knot in her apron. The crew around them wordlessly packed up cameras and rolled away equipment, the lights from the set no longer burning into her skin.

By all accounts, filming had been a success. The pasta sauce had been the right amount of rich, the apple pie still lingered in her mouth and she still tasted it when she sucked in her cheeks, and when the director had announced that they could wrap up, the entire crew had applauded. Even if she’d said the word “whore” alongside one of the Culinary Channel’s sweethearts, she knew what she was doing and they’d created a damn fine show.

“If you didn’t want to make the roast, you could have just said something,” he said calmly, rolling his kitchen knives up.

“It’s my show too, is it not?” Natasha inhaled, steeling herself because she’d rehearsed this. If he was going to act like she’d sabotaged something when they both knew he needed her as much as she needed him, then she was going to remind him that she was the one with more offers. Steve Rogers, TV chef who had been around long enough to have his own goddamn salad dressing. A tired act that needed her for a breath of fresh air. She dug her nails into the knot, which was not budging, and rolled her eyes before stepping over to her own station.

“It’s collaborative, Miss Romanoff,” he said through gritted teeth. “This was not collaborative…”

She shrugged, feigning innocence while inwardly taking note that even after all the negotiations and meet-ups and preliminary filming, he still didn’t call her by her first name. This was above and beyond just gentlemanly and sweet with a hint of mama’s boy. This was going to get on her goddamn nerves.  “I let you chop the onion,” she offered. “And you can call me Natasha.”

“Chop the onion…” he muttered and she noticed the way he moved faster to clean up, even with the cool head that he projected, something about his movements that ringed in her mind as...interesting. “This isn’t about the onion. I’m not your sous chef, Miss Romanoff. Both our names are on the title card, you can have the decency to at least discuss it with me.”

“It worked out great, Rogers,” she narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. It was a power struggle, she knew that. And she knew she was being difficult and unreasonable but she also didn’t want him to think he was going to walk away with all creative control just because of the dick between his legs. She’d worked damn hard to get to where she was. And working with him had been a dream. She’d fallen off her chair when her agent had suggested it. Steve Rogers. She had his cookbooks. She’d purchased his salad dressing. She could remember watching his early shows and thinking he was probably too good to be true, a man who was that beautiful and who also spoke into the camera about browning butter and making bread crumbs. Christ, she could remember one particular Thanksgiving episode in which he’d spent five minutes talking about the importance of prep because she’d decided then and there that he was the perfect man. _(“Everything happens easier, smoothly with good prep.")_   She was just the fresh spin on things that he’d needed, or so she’d been told, and she was excited about finding ways to make the show- her first show- her own.

Making a roast had been his choice, his menu, that had been emailed to her without any questions of collaboration. As if, this was really his show and she was the only one who should be grateful. As if she also wasn’t someone in her own right. She didn’t realize until it was too late that the apple pie was his mom’s and even if it was, Puttanesca went well with just about anything. He was, in her mind, overreacting. The producer, the director- everyone else had let it go. So if he was looking for an apology or something, he’d better keep looking.

He looked down, his jaw tight and hands on his hips, before walking behind her and yanking on the cords to her apron. Natasha gripped the countertop even as her stomach shot up into her throat.

“Yeah, it worked out fine,” he said, and she inhaled as he worked at the knot, suddenly so very aware of his body behind her. This kind of personal space invasion...she fought to keep her body upright, to not lean forward and push her ass into him, and that was all levels of new. Not that she hadn’t ever spent time appreciating his face, her knees weak at his voice when he talked. He made grandmothers and college girls swoon, there was a reason his shows were always so popular and he could blush at being counted on the “Sexiest People” list but honestly, no one was that naive. She tried not to preen at the compliment, even if it came begrudgingly, because she knew it was worth all the salt in the world.

“Then why are you complaining?” she asked, trying not to sound breathless.  The soundstage was quiet, everyone long cleared out, and she knew he could probably hear her heart pounding.

“I asked to work with you because you have talent.” Steve yanked her strings lose and stepped back. “But the show won’t work if we aren’t a team.”

Natasha spun around. He had asked for her? Bullshit, she could tell he was patronizing her and it made her blood boil.  “Is that why I was asked to come on board? Really? I think I gave you guys what you want.  Steve, you didn’t ask me because of my croque tartine parisienne. You asked me because I look good. Because we were both on that list, side by side, and the best way to revive a dying career is through sex.”

Steve’s mouth opened and she watched him try to come up with a good way to defend what she knew had to be true.

“You aren’t going to tell me I’m wrong?” Natasha took a step forward. She knew she couldn't intimidate him with size, not the way she could if she was a man, and she knew that he towered above her, was in fact looking down at her with wide eyes as if maybe she could be a little threatening after all. “If you want sex, I can give it, Rogers. If that’s the show that sells, I am going to sell the shit out of it.”

He took a step back and that energized her, as if maybe she’d intimidated him after all. “Miss Romanoff…”

“Natasha,” she said, pointing her finger against his chest and he took another step back, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe she’d touch him, let alone stick up for herself, let alone do something as radical as changing the menu on what was also _her_ show. “My name is Natasha.”

“Natasha, fuck…” he nodded and something about the way he said it made her gasp, took her breath away all over again. The way it came out cracked, like his throat was suddenly parched. The way he looked at her, not like he was exasperated or shocked, but something hungry and wanting.

“Is that the concept? Was that how they pitched it to you? Because I was told I was going to get to cohost something groundbreaking alongside Steve Rogers but if you wanna fuck, if that’s what gets the job done,” she spoke quickly, words flying out before she could think, her hands pushing against his heaving chest.

"Jesus,” he cursed, gripping her wrists and she all but moaned at the energy in the room, electric and overwhelming. His hands were just the right amount of tight and when she pulled her bottom lip in with her teeth, she could feel his eyes follow the movement. She hoped he would kiss her then, hoped he tasted as sweet as she’d always fantasized…

And he did. He met her eyes and she forgot even where they were because she’d pressed her lips to his and he stumbled back onto the kitchen chair, the one belonging to the cute country table that she’d never pick out for her own kitchen or in a show in which any ounce of her own creative input was acknowledged or even solicited. And he did taste sweet, thanks to Ma’ Rogers’ pie, his mouth hot on hers and swallowing every moan she pretended she didn’t have.

His hands clutched at the back of her shirt and she would have taken it off just to feel him on her skin, if not for the presence of mind that said that priority number one was kicking her heels off so she could hike up her skirt and straddle his lap.

Every time he started to say something- her name, the Lord’s, a swear- she rolled her hips, breaking it off into a groan, his hips even through his goddamn khakis bucking up to meet her. They weren’t fucking, not technically, but she could feel him, hard against her wet panties and she wished she could find a reasonable excuse for why they should.

“Natasha, wait, this isn’t…” he said after he’d already made her dizzy, his tongue against hers and her grip on his shirt tight as an anchor because she was close, just grinding against him, she just needed a little more…

“I want more creative input. I want to see the menu before you send it off, before the morning we come in to film,” she rasped, pressing her hips down again. She also wanted to know what that tongue felt like between her legs, if his dick was as impressive as it felt, but she wasn’t going to be greedy.

He nodded, perfect hair mussed and face flushed. “Of course. I never had a problem with that….”

Natasha kissed him quiet before sliding off, stumbling back against the counter herself with her fingers on her lips. “I want it in writing, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Natasha, listen…” Steve said, voice desperate in a way that felt good, as he moved off the chair toward her. “You have the wrong idea.”

She smirked because of course he’d say that, and probably more. She bent down and picked up her shoes, stepping off set. “I will contact you tomorrow with my ideas for the next episode, Steve. We’ll have a lot of _prep_ to do.”

He called after her and she thought about continuing the conversation but she was saved by an intern with a headset, who wanted to know if she and Steve were making it to the network summer season launch party. The intern looked at Steve with stars in her eyes and when she asked Steve if he could sign something for her, Natasha took the opportunity to hurry away. Her body hummed and she felt more frustrated than she would have ever expected but she also felt victorious.  Triumphant.

If he thought that just because his name was bigger, he’d be able to steamroll her through something she’d dreamed of since she was a girl, he was wrong.


End file.
